


A Tin Can and Some Raisins

by MissBumblina



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Companions, F/M, First Meetings, GIVE US PAM, MAKE PAM CANON PAPA TODD, Spoilers, Tending Wounds, When I put Finn in 'The Final Pam' popped up first and I burst out laughing, YOUVE BEEN DOIN US DIRTY, and fucking canvas bags., holy crap there are so many tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBumblina/pseuds/MissBumblina
Summary: Moved from my tumblr, @bumblinas-imagines, and requested by an anon? I think?"I dont know if you'll do fallout requests for like. Side characters but if you do could you do Edward Deegan (I love him ahhh) along with hancock, nick, and mayyybe charon with headcannons of them accidently hitting sole/lone while gesturing but when they turn around to apologize she cowers away? (If you do charon I dont see him as much of a gestureer so maybe she surprises him or sumthin?) Just fluffy apologies and maybe some cuddles with a sprinkle of angst pls?"-anon? I think?Also, I’m not sure this is exactly what you wanted, I kinda tweaked the request per character ^-^;;SPOILERS AHEADI REALLY FUCKED AROUND WITH CANON FOR NICK. LOOK AWAY IF YA AIN’T COOL WIT IT. D:





	A Tin Can and Some Raisins

Edward Deegan:

Deegan wasn’t one for bar fights, not that they happened often at the Third Rail; people were usually too high to do much but stare at Magnolia. Oh sure, in his youth he’d been in a few scuffles, but those days had long since passed. That didn’t mean he couldn’t square up if he felt the urge.

He watched the fight start, some sort of lover’s quarrel, maybe someone was cheating? It didn’t matter, Deegan was content to watch and sip his stout with Sole nestled up under his arm on the couch. She took a long drag off her cigarette and gave the fight a passing glance.

Turning to him, she opened her mouth to say something when all hell broke loose. Two men crashed into the coffee table, sending glass and ash everywhere, the lady they fought over shouting at them to knock it off. Sole jolted back, pulling herself up on the back of the couch. She chuckled, more amused than anything.

Deegan sighed internally and stood, irritated that the fight basically fell in their laps. He looked up as a kid, maybe 20 years old, hooped and hollered, excited for the action. The kid smelled like jet and b.o. and jumped into the fray, pulling Deegan with him. He let out a low grunt as the kid socked him in the jaw. All the familiar feelings rushed at him— the ringing in his ears, the buzzing, the heavy impact—

Sole shouted something, he couldn’t tell what but she sounded pissed.

Deegan staggered and let out a groan, clenching his fists. With a hard swing, he sent the kid reeling to the ground. The kid scrambled to get up, holding his face, when Deegan stood over him, glaring. The other half of the fight was quickly dealt with by Ham and Whitechapel Charlie, leaving only Deegan and the jet junkie.

“Stay down, kid,” he growled and watched the kid’s high as fuck mind try to process what was happening.

“Anybody tell you that you have a hell of a wind-up, Dee?” Sole almost sounded congested. Deegan looked back, confused when he didn’t see her standing there. Letting Ham take care of the kid, he looked over the couch and frowned, Sole laid on her back, hand covering her nose. 

He came around the couch and helped her up, “you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sole flinched when he raised his hand to move hers aside, giving him some pause. Moving a little slower, he took her hands and pulled them away, revealing her broken nose.

Deegan’s gut twisted. Sole was tough, tougher than most people, but he’d never intentionally harm her, even if she could take it.

“Ah, sorry, Sole,” he apologized, taking a bandanna out of his back pocket to clean her up.

Sole rolled her eyes and snatched the bandanna, “you’re lucky you’re cute,” she said through the cloth, hissing as she put pressure on her nose.

“ehh, it’s a good thing you weren’t hired for your face. Might’a ruined that for you.”

“Pfft!” Sole laughed and shoved him with one hand “you’re paying to fix this, Deegan.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

 

Hancock: 

If there’s one thing Sole learned at Law School is that people experience stress differently. Some people get heart palpitations, others feel nauseas, and a few get dizzy. Sole, however, would get hot, insanely hot.

Of course, that was during Hell Week. She was stressed, for sure, but she wasn’t irradiated, bleeding, dehydrated, and fighting hunger induced fatigue while being threatened. She’d never felt heat quite like what coursed through her veins as she stood in Goodneighbor for the first time, weakly staring down Finn as he tried to extort money from her.

It made her dizzy.

Dogmeat stuck to her side, silent, but hackles raised and eyes trained on Finn. She remembers putting a hand on his head, hoping he’d stay— Sole wasn’t sure how the residents would react to one of their own being mauled by a dog. At the same time, Dogmeat would be her only hope if Finn decided to just take what he wanted.

“Whoa whoa, time out—”

Sole’s eyes went wide as a ghoul dressed up as John fucking Hancock sauntered up to them. He told Finn to back off, that she was a guest in Goodneighbor. Dots pricked her vision as she watched the exchange. She didn’t hear how Finn responded, but whatever he said must have pissed the ghoul off.

He drew a knife, not unlike the one Sole kept on her hip, and gutted him. Normally, blood didn’t bother her, but the sight made her heart race. He looked at her, blade in hand and mouth moving, but no sound reached her.

It was like a switch went off when Finn hit the ground, dying. Her vision darkened as she fought for consciousness, leaning against Dogmeat. Gravity tilted and the pavement rushed to meet her, plunging her into darkness.

A splitting headache and the scent of cigarette ash and alcohol roused her. Soft, warm fur stirred under her hand, and a heavy weight suddenly lifted off her stomach. Sole peeled her eyes open slowly, the corner of her mouth twitch upward as Dogmeat crawled closer to her, whining happily.

She fruitlessly scanned the room, the only source of light being a low lantern behind a medkit on the bedside table. A wooden chair sat facing the bed, beside it stood an IV stand with a Radaway bladder hanging from it. She followed the line from the bag down to her arm and gulped, praying that she didn’t just get hepatitis from a Good Samaritan. Using her hands, she felt along the bed— no blankets and distinctly grimy. Sole wrinkled her nose and snapped her hand off the surface.

“Well, well, good morning, sleeping beauty,” a voice rasped softly from the corner. In the sparse light she could make out a form.

Sole bolted upright, searing pain pounding behind her eyes the moment she moved.

“F-fuck!” she groaned, holding her head in her hands.

The floorboards creaked under well worn boots as he approached her bedside and sat in the chair. Silence hung between them for a moment before Sole pealed her hands away from her head to take a better look at him. Dogmeat wasn’t growling or getting between them, and so far, his instincts had been on point. His tail thumped against the bed a few times when she looked at him and he rested his head on her lap. If Dogmeat thought this ghoul was okay, maybe she could trust him too.

He tilted his head, looking into her face, “you look like me after a bad night of drinking. Or, heh, a good night.”

She gulped dryly and licked her lips, drinking anything sounded great right then, “I feel like it, too. I been out long?”

He chuckled quietly and reached for the medkit, taking out a surprisingly clean rag from it and dousing it with clear liquid from a flask, “Nah, figured you’d appreciate darkness with how hard you hit the ground. Just closed up the last curtain when you woke up.”

He reached out with the cloth. Sole saw flashes of him stabbing Finn and jumped, eyes wide and watching. He paused, retracting his hand a few inches.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, smoothskin. Let ol’ Hancock take a look at that cut,” his voice was low and soft, “alright?”

Sole looked down at Dogmeat, his head still in her lap and nearly snoozing. Slowly, she looked back at him and nodded. He approached slower this time and was gentle as he cleaned up the cut across her eyebrow.

“So… Hancock.” She said questioningly, eying his jacket and tri corn hat.

“Yeah,” Hancock smirked and drew his gaze from the cut to look her in the eye, “you got a name, smoothskin?”

Damn, the way he said it that time sent her cheeks aflame. She gulped again, “Sole.”

“Nice to meetcha, Sole.”

“Nice to meet you too, Hancock.”

 

Nick: 

Whirring fans, buzzing electricity, and the squeak of old metal joints were all things Sole was used to hearing around Nick. In fact, half the time she didn’t notice the sounds coming from his body anymore. Even if she did, he never made comments over the sounds her body made, so she returned the favor.

However, a new sound captured her attention. It sounded like a bee stuck in a soda bottle. She looked up from her book and glanced around, looking for the source of the noise. Her eyes landed on Nick, smoking on the couch adjacent to her. His face twitched a few times before going stone still. Everything about him went still, in fact.

“…Nick?” Sole set the book down and looked him over, “Sweetie? Are you alright?”

His golden eyes flicked over to her, staring blankly. Her heart plummeted into her stomach and dread seeped into every corner of her body as she stood up. Something was wrong, very fucking wrong. It didn’t feel like Nick. It felt like she was sitting in a room with one of the wolves from Far Harbor.

“Nick? Honey, that’s really freaky, say something.”

Instantly, his face broke into a tired grin, one she knew she’d seen before, but not on Nick’s face. Sole’s throat clenched shut when she heard him laugh— no— cackle like a grizzled mercenary.

Nick looked around briefly before eying Sole, “well well, the most dangerous woman in the Commonwealth is still alive? …” his eyes twitched back and forth for a second, like he was reading something, “… and you destroyed the Institute? Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.”

She’d know that voice anywhere.

“Kellogg,” Sole clenched her fists, itching for the blade on her hip, “how the fuck are you still in there?”

“You better ask your Dr. Amari that,” Kellogg raised Nick’s hand and flexed his wrist, like he was testing it out.

Old rage built up in her as she watched Kellogg move Nick’s body, rolling his ankles and shoulders, clenching his hands, craning his neck from side to side. He was testing out his boundaries.

Her voice shook with adrenaline, “My offer for round 2 still stands, fucker. You’re dead. I intend on keeping it that way.”

“I don’t think so,” Kellogg stood with not even so much as a wobble, “now that I’m out from under those bastards thumbs, I think I’ll take a walk.”

Sole moved in front of him, hand on the hilt of her knife, “you sit the fuck down and let Nick back.”

He leaned in, bringing Nick’s face inches from hers, “no.”

Her retort stuck in her throat as he wrapped a hand around her neck, squeezing just tight enough to make her struggle for air. Sole grasped her knife and plunged it into his shoulder joint, sending sparks flying. Power severed, his hand fell away. With a snarl, he struck her with the other hand, the full mechanical power of Nick’s body behind it.

She tumbled into the couch, half deaf and stinging from the impact. In the time it took for him to step closer and stand over her, she snatched the revolver from the end table and took aim.

Chest heaving, she pulled the hammer back, waiting for him to move, praying for Kellogg’s grip on Nick to fall away. He stared down at her, the mechanisms in his neck and face twitching. Several tense seconds passed like this before Nick fell to his knees, his good hand to his head and blinking rapidly.

He glanced around, gaining his bearings, and looked at Sole, “what- what happened?” he looked down the barrel of the gun, suddenly wary, “Sole.”

It sure as hell sounded like Nick again, but she kept her aim on him, gritting her teeth, “don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not!” he defended himself, looking down at the state of their bodies, a look of realization dawning on his face, “oh. Oh.”

Nick looked back at Sole and slowly reached out, putting his hand on top of the gun, “it’s me. It’s alright.”

“Nick?” she said tearfully, letting her aim waver.

“It’s me, doll,” he replied, taking the gun from her, “it’s me.”

Sole flung herself from the couch and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in him as hot tears fell. He wrapped his good arm around her and held her tight, rocking slightly. They stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it.

“We need to talk to Dr. Amari,” Sole finally said, voice hoarse with emotion.

“Let’s head out tomorrow, kid,” Nick said into her hair, “we’ll get this figured out.”

Charon: 

Lone moved about the kitchen quietly, setting everything up with great care. She slipped silk roses she found in an old apartment into a freshly cleaned Nuka Cola bottle and set it on the table. Lone carefully smoothed out the table cloth and dusted the chairs.

Today was the day. No more hiding behind meaningful looks, no more blaming the heat for her flushed cheeks, no more pretending like she’s uninterested. Charon was a man of few words, so she didn’t expect much back, but dammit Lone had to get this off her chest or it’ll make her sick.

She froze and turned an ear toward the stairs, thinking she heard something under the motions of Wadsworth in the next room. After several tense moments of silence, Lone let out a sigh and went back to work. With trained silence, she took a few sweet rolls out of the cupboard and stacked them up on a clean plate. Next was the mutfruit, sliced and arranged with the rolls.

Lone stilled again, listening. The next task was pretty tricky. Carefully, slowly, quietly, she cut and sauteed Mirelurk Hatchling meat and tatoes together, praying Charon’s trained ears wouldn’t pick up on her movements just yet.

Satisfied with the spread, she put a kettle on for coffee, the words ‘campfire coffee’ popping into her head as she did so. Something from a book she read back in the Vault. Shaking her head of those thoughts, she let the kettle go as she left the kitchen.

If she woke him up now, the coffee would be done by the time he came down. Her heart thumped harder and harder with each step she took towards his door. Maybe this was a bad idea. She stared his door down with her hands clenched tightly as self preservation warned her of everything that could go wrong.

“No,” Lone whispered to herself, pushing away those thoughts and stepping up to the door. Worst thing he’d do is tell her that he’s not interested. That would hurt, but she could live with that. She had to try.

She steeled herself and knocked quietly, “Charon?”

No response.

Before Lone totally lost her nerve, she opened the door a crack and peeked in. His massive form slumbered on his equally massive bed, chest expanding and contracting with each breath. He laid on his side with his back to her, the thin blanket hugging the contours of his body. Chiding herself for staring, she opened the door a little more, poking her head in.

“Charon?”

Nothing.

Ignoring whatever consequences she might face for invading his privacy, she tip toed inside, leaving the door a fraction of an inch open behind her. She peered over his shoulder at his face. He looked tense, like he was having a bad dream.

She leaned in and rested her hand on his shoulder, “Charon? There’s break-”

Charon’s arm swung wildly, hitting her square in the face as he spun around, eyes wide and ready for a fight. Lone fell on her ass, stunned and stinging. Dammit, she should have known better. He glanced around the room, looking for the enemy, only to find Lone looking up at him from the floor with a split lip.

“Lone,” his face softened a fraction and he moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

Lone wiped her lip with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her hand and her face, and kind of chuckled, “heh, s-sorry Charon, didn’t mean to startle ya.”

Wordlessly, he pressed his elbows to his knees and leaned toward her. He took her face in his hand and lifted her chin, examining the cut. Nerves crashing down on her, Lone tried to pull away, heart fluttering at the contact.

“Stop fidgeting,” he muttered, his hand like a vice grip on her chin.

Lone uncomfortably pressed her lips into a tight line and looked somewhere past Charon. He pressed his thumb between her lips, scratching her, and hooked it over her bottom lip to get a better look at the cut.

Lone gasped and went bright red with the tip of his thumb in her mouth as he examined her lip. Charon slowly looked away from her lip, satisfied that it wasn’t actually that bad, and took notice of her blush.

His face softened a little more and he slipped his thumb from her lip, rubbing it softly against her cheek. It was uncharacteristically tender of him, as was the small smile that played at the edge of his mouth.

“Um,” Lone pulled away from his touch and stood, smiling nervously, “I made breakfast, I’ll, uh, go clean myself up and meet you down there?”

Charon nodded once, “yeah.”

Barely containing her nerves, she went back to the door and whipped around, “don’t let me forget. I have to tell you something.”

He nodded again, the subtle grin on his face growing a little wider, “okay.”

“Okay,” Lone repeated, her lips curled into a smile despite the throbbing pain.


End file.
